


Just Like Your Father

by chatnchew



Category: Iron Giant (1999)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Metaphysics, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Parent Death, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie, Vietnam War, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000, technically speaking? as per the movie logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatnchew/pseuds/chatnchew
Summary: December 1956. Another casualty of the early stages of the Vietnam War is reported. His last name was Hughes.





	Just Like Your Father

**Author's Note:**

> This work is largely inspired by the first draft of the film's script, along with the alternate opening scenes that were scrapped. Hogarth's father and Hogarth's relationship to him is a much more prominent theme in them, and I thought it'd be interesting to explore it a bit. In my view, the death of Hogarth's father is something that occurred very recently before the film and I hope that this piece reflects that as well. 
> 
> That all said, I hope you enjoy!

December 3rd, 1956: Old Man Winter had put up his feet in Rockwell, casting the small town in an oversized blanket of dreamy snow. Various fishermen had come back days previous from sea and were getting cozy with their wives indoors. Children were romping around through the snow in the way only the young could revel in the beauty of nature. The sun shone far above, casting the rolling forested landscape in a gentle golden glow. 

It was on that day that Annie received a phone call. 

“Is this the Hughes residence?” Annie felt her relaxed posture suddenly harden like quick-set cement. The the gruff voice of the caller on the other end of the line sounded… Wrong. The taste of coffee and too many cigarettes rested heavy in his words. The question sounded rehearsed, the surname being the only deviation from his script. Annie coiled the phone cord around her left hand, hoping to squeeze away the growing tightness prickling up in her chest. 

“Yes, yes, this is, um – This is Mrs. Annie Hughes speaking. Who is this?”

“I’m calling on behalf of the United States Air Force. Mrs. Hughes…” 

The rest of the man’s words weren’t necessary for Annie to understand what was being said. They were fuzzy. Indistinct in her ears, but all too clear in her mind. 

“Your husband has passed away. You have my fullest condolences.” 

All the sunshine filtering through the small window above the sink, all the honey-hued wallpaper circling around her beautiful homey kitchen, all the sounds of innocent laughter outside in the snowy fields were not enough to keep Annie standing. She sank to the linoleum floor. A dull dial tone croaked out from the phone held limp in her hand. 

_ How am I going to tell Hogarth? _

It was a question with no right answer. Annie knew that much. Regardless of the fact he was just rounding the age of eight; a son’s first best friend was always his father. 

Annie held in a shuddering breath. She would have to be strong for him. Gentle with him. She could grieve later; for his sake, she would have to. 

On unsteady legs, Annie rose. She put the phone back on its stand, setting the whole device on the kitchen counter top where it belonged and pressed her slender hands to her tear-stained cheeks. Her face felt foreign; puffy and red from her growing, hollowing sorrow. A growing headache was clouding her thoughts. She wiped her face dry with the backs of her hands before grabbing a washcloth to properly clean herself up. The cool touch of the damp towel was enough to help her recompose somewhat. The tears stopped. The headache faded. The hurt persisted.

After standing still at the sink for a contemplative minute, she grabbed her winter coat and headed outside. 

Hogarth was in the barn. They had a few cows who called it home. The milk cow with the downy brown coat was his favorite. Bessie– a rather droll name for a cow, but Hogarth had picked it and so Annie and his father let it be. Most of the animals on the Hughes residence had been named by him; a gaggle of the chickens in the coop, half the cows, and a goat had all been christened under Hogarth. His father remarked that he was a ‘regular little Adam’. Annie supposed that Hogarth gave names to the animals to give himself friends in turn. 

She had to steady herself before opening the barn doors. 

Hogarth was feeding Bessie and, it seemed, was quite engrossed in conversation with her as well. He had a hand full of feed right where she could reach it. With the biggest smile, he watched Bessie enjoy her little treat as he went on about his day. 

“You know you’re not supposed to give anyone snacks, Hogarth,” Annie said. Hogarth jumped nearly a whole foot in the air, the feed in his hand spilling to the barn floor. Bessie snorted and flicked her tail wildly, obviously unhappy. Annie couldn’t help but smile; between the cow’s indignation and Hogarth’s embarrassment, it was hard not to.

“Sorry, Mom,” he replied sheepishly. “But Bessie was looking a little thin, so I thought…”

“I know what you thought, mister. But everyone’s on a set schedule for a reason.” Annie crossed the threshold and let the barn door close behind her. She wondered how long they would have any use for it. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind earlier, but without her husband’s income…

“I don’t think it’s fair that  _ I _ can get snacks but they can’t,” Hogarth said. “Bessie and the rest are part of the family, so they should get equal treatment, right?” 

Annie felt her chest constrict once again and she pulled her coat tighter to cancel out the pressure. “Hogarth, I know you feel strongly about it, but at the end of the day, we are trying to run a farm here.” Her son rolled his eyes (something she would have reprimanded him for on an average day) and conceded with a begrudging nod as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“I know Mom, I know…” Hogarth was funny like that. His rebellion was never borne out of anger or frustration. He was smart, quick-witted. Just like his father. Annie felt the pressure in her chest grow. She couldn’t hold it at bay any longer. 

“Hogarth,” she started, voice heavy. Hogarth’s demeanor stiffened; his eyes narrowed keenly, corners tinged with worry. Annie was always stunned by his empathy. She was always stunned when her husband knew how to treat her gently after a hard day without her saying a word about it. She was always stunned to see how Hogarth and his father shared wordless conversation, the pitch and catch of a baseball being their only exchange. 

“Hogarth, I’m so sorry. Come here.” They embraced, and Annie held her boy tight. “I have something… I have something to tell you.”

“Mom?” Hogarth’s voice was small and fragile. The dangerous clink-clink-clink of her fine china wethering a hurricane couldn’t have risen deeper feelings of fear from her. Annie’s words caught in her throat. 

“Hogarth… Your father, he’s… He’s dead.” 

Tears made her stop. She bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling and fell silent to stop her sobs. Hogarth returned her tight embrace, curling his fingers into the fur of her coat and turning his head to press his cheek against hers. Annie felt a tremor run through her as she felt the tears of her son against her own. 

“I know… I know we’re both… Sad,” she managed. Her voice was shaky in a way she had never wanted Hogarth to hear. “It’s okay. It’s because we both love your father very much. And even though he’s… Even though he’s gone, there’s something important we have to remember. There’s something important I have to tell you.” 

Annie parted from their embrace, holding Hogarth at arm’s length. To see his face twisted by sorrow, to see the tears she’d felt… The bitter taste of grief bubbled up in her chest, up against the words in her throat, like bile. Annie closed her eyes and took in a deep steadying breath. 

“Everything… has a soul,” she whispered. 

“A soul?” Hogarth’s voice was low, burrowed amongst suppressed sobs. 

“Yes, dear. A soul. And a soul is…” Annie opened her eyes slowly. She turned to the cow beside them, who had been silent in an almost intelligent show of concern. She placed her palm against Bessie’s chin and the cow snorted softly in response. 

“A soul is something inside of all good things, Hogarth,” Annie continued. “You have a soul. I have a soul. Your father… Had a soul. And it’s something that goes on, forever, even after death.” She paused and gazed into the deep eyes of the cow, finding an emotional foothold there that let her speak. A sense of temporary tranquility had descended upon her. The whole barn was enveloped in it. 

“Even if he’s not here with us anymore, your father isn’t completely gone.” Annie turned back to face Hogarth. His face was like hers: tear-stained and paler than the snow outside. But he was in the same fragile, peaceful state as her. Staring at the barn floor and, occasionally, sniffing. 

Annie smiled, her expression shadowed in melancholy, and cupped Hogarth’s face to lift it to meet her gaze. He mirrored her smile, the gap where a baby tooth had once stood showing through in his small sad grin. 

“Hey, Mom…” Hogarth, to Annie’s great surprise, chuckled. “Mom, does… Does Bessie have a soul?” 

There was another silence as Annie considered Hogarth’s question– a silence that was borne from shock than sadness. She blinked a few times to clear her away her tears and the dark thoughts crowding in her mind. A pensive squint pinched her face as she pondered an answer. 

“Well, I… I don’t see why not,” she said. “Bessie is– good, and, well... I suppose she feels things. So I guess she does. Bessie has a soul.” Annie started chuckling herself. It was silly! Here they were, talking about the milk cow’s soul. She covered her growing smile to suppress her giggles. 

Hogarth’s grin stretched wide across his face. He snorted and laughed along with her, throwing his head back and covering his face with his dirt-and-hay covered hands. He didn’t notice the new tears trailing down Annie’s face. She couldn’t stop laughing, even as the bile building within her almost threatened to manifest itself. 

There they sat among the stables in the barn, knelt into the dusty floor with a cow with a downy brown coat hovering over them. The shadow of loss hung over them– the farm. New clothes for school. Brand-name foods. A car in perfect working order. A trip to Disneyland. And they were laughing. Annie pulled Hogarth– her son, her darling boy –close once again and giggled into his shoulder. He was so kind. So understanding. Willing to put aside his sadness just to make her laugh. Willing to do sacrifice something for her, just as she was for him. 

Just like his father.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note: the fellow reporting Mr. Hughes' death is not supposed to be anyone in particular! I just wanted to include a little bit that sounded too nice to throw out.


End file.
